Cure for the Pain
by the-black-drop
Summary: Ever thought there was more to that story Olivia told Peter about her stepfather? What if Peter and Olivia had met as kids? Rated T for mentions of abuse, spoilers for 1x06 The Cure
1. A notsohappy birthday

**Disclaimer: I don't own Fringe, Fox, Bad Robot or anything else I could get sued for. All characters, plot, etc. that this story is based on belong to Fox and J.J. Abrams' production team.**

**Note: This story is based on a scene from Fringe Season 1, Episode 6 "The Cure" and may contain spoilers if you haven't seen the episode. **

I hate birthdays. Hate them with a passion. I can barely remember a birthday where I didn't have to worry about some intimidating reminder of the best and worst thing I'd ever done. The same basic cards, with the daisies on the front and that sentimental message, "Thinking of You". Sweet and innocent to the untrained eye, but for me, these have always been the last thing I need on a day like this one.

Every possible thing has gone wrong. Claire Williams is still missing, Nadeem Patel shot his head off in front of me, my interview with Esterbrook almost got me suspended, and now Broyles is breathing down my neck. It's a crappy birthday by anyone's standards and I haven't even got my stepfather's card yet. And now, maybe worst of all, I've made Peter mad. It's pretty clear. He's standing over me rattling on about how "We're all allowed to have our bad days", but whatever's been pissing me off today has nothing to with him.

"You're right. I'm sorry," I say. "I'm sorry." I take a breath and debate silently how much he deserves to know. But then I think, screw it; we risk our lives for each other every day. Charlie knows. John knew. Broyles probably has it on file somewhere. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to just let it all out for a change, rather than bottle it up in some deep, dark, twisted place until one day I snap and shoot up a 7/11.

I look Peter in the eye. "I had a stepfather," I say. I give him a wry smile. I already think I've said too much. But, hey, there's no going back now.

Mum was crying. I didn't see him hit her. All I knew was they had been shouting and now she was in pieces. When it happened I was in my room, my back barricading the door closed as I willed Rachael not to cry too loud. Every time those heavy footsteps got too close to the door I flinched and prayed to anyone listening that he would just go far away from here and never come back. Then, just as abruptly as he had exploded, he left the house, leaving us only with the sound of Mum crying on the kitchen floor and rain bleeding down the windows.

After I was certain he was gone, I told Rachael to stay behind as I poked my head through the door to see if Mum was OK. She wasn't, but I don't think I expected her to be. Her nose was bleeding. I crept over to her, but couldn't think of anything to do or say. I just sat there, next to her, tracing the grains of the timber floorboards with my knuckles. I was angry, and I was scared, but none of that was going to help her. I knew I was supposed to hug her or something like that, but I found that I couldn't even unclench my hands. She pulled me close to her body, just enough for some of her blood to get in my hair. She tried to smudge it out.

Through some sick, wet choke, she managed to whimper "Olive". I couldn't look at her. She just kept thumbing my hair. "Oh, Olive, I'm so sorry. Mummy's so sorry. It'll get better, I promise. Your Daddy loves you very, very much. He doesn't mean it."

I tensed in her arms. I hated it when she called him that. Mike wasn't my Daddy. My Daddy was a soldier. He was back in Jacksonville at the base where my old school was. I wished I was back there. Every night, I saw it in my dreams. Mum would always tell me that I should pray before I went to sleep, but as soon as my head hit the pillow, all I could think about was being back with my Dad all the way over in sunny Florida. It was always too cold and too lonely here in Boston. As Mum clung to me, I closed my eyes and thought of how different life would be if we were still there.

Then I heard Mike's car. He'd turned back around. Mum knew it, too. "Olive, quick, take your sister and go hide!" I didn't want to leave her, but I couldn't see a better choice. I grabbed Rachael from our room and took her to Mum and Mike's room. It would be safer in there, I thought, because there was a lock on the door. I held Rach tightly in my arms. She was only four. Outside, I could here Mum trying to prepare herself for the worst as the car door slammed shut.

Then it came to me. The gun. Of course! Putting Rachael down, I ran to Mike's bedside drawer and dug through the layers of socks and underwear until my hand hit chilled metal. My fingers wrapped around it instinctively, like it fit in my hands. It felt heavier than I expected. "Rach, get under the bed," I whispered, and she scrambled over. Before she disappeared beneath it, I looked her in the eye and said "Don't come out, no matter what." I made her promise and we shook on it. A sister can't go back on a pinky swear.

Bitter tears falling from my eyes, I cracked the door open and I could see Mike approach the door, screaming out his fury. As I walked out there, it felt like everything else in the world fell away – Rachael's crying, Mum's screaming, Mike's wide eyes as he realised what was happening…

I raised the gun. Pulled the trigger. Simple as that. Just a flick of my finger. Then I pulled it again. It was completely instinctual. It wasn't until he was on the floor that I realised I'd actually done it. And he just looked at me, half-smiling through gritted teeth, almost daring me to finish. But I couldn't do it. I didn't actually want to kill him. I just wanted to make him stop. Panic bent through me as I realised what I'd done. I ran to the phone and called and dialled 911.

I was greeted by a bored voice over the phone: "911, what is your emergency?"

I gulped, trying to drown out his panting and Mum's screaming. "I…uh…"

"Hello?"

"Umm…"

"Is this one of those prank calls, kid? Coz I've got better things to do."

I started crying then. I could barely get the words out. "I didn't mean to, honest."

"Didn't mean to do what, sweetheart? Are you OK?"

"I shot him. He's bleeding heaps."

"Who is, love?"

"My stepdad."

"OK, hon, there are some people coming over right now to help you, OK? What's your name? How old are you?"

"Olive. I'm nine."

"That's a pretty name, Olive. You just hang in there, OK?" He kept talking to me for what seemed like hours. Eventually an ambulance came, as well as social workers and police. A nice policeman named Phil let me ride in his car down to the police station and he gave me all the chocolate I wanted, even though I wasn't hungry. Mum went to hospital with Mike. Rachael went with a social worker. It felt like I was all alone.

Phil led me in to the police station and sat me down outside his office. "How are you doing, Olive? You want something to eat or drink?" I shook my head and he smiled reassuringly. "Well, I'm going to get a Coke, and I'll bring one back for you just in case. You stay here, now. I'll be back in a minute." As he left, he told another officer to keep an eye on me. I curled into a ball and tried to keep my fists from clenching. I just wanted everything to be over.

Just then, another policeman dragged in a boy my age by the collar and sat him near me. The boy was livid. "Dude, hands of the jacket! Stop manhandling me!"

The policeman scoffed. "You know what, Kiddo? I've had enough of you causing trouble and ending up in here all the time. Don't you think your Mum's got enough to deal with, raising you all alone?"

"Whatever, man." the boy said.

"Well, just wait here until somebody comes to pick you up, OK? I'll be watching you, so don't try to sneak off again." The policeman walked away, leaving the two of us sitting aimlessly together.

The boy looked annoyed and restless, stamping his feet and grumbling something about his Dad being stupid. He noticed me staring. "What are you looking at?"

"Nothing."

"Liar…What did you do to end up in here?"

I looked away. "I didn't do anything wrong. It wasn't my fault."

He scoffed. "Yeah, we all say that the first time. I got caught stealing a pack of cigarettes. It's OK, though, I've been in here lots of times…What's the matter, haven't you ever been in trouble before?"

I shook my head.

"I bet you ran away," he said.

Keeping my eyes on my hands, I shook my head a second time.

"Huh," he said. "I usually get that stuff right. Well, what are you so sad about, then?"

"I'm in trouble. I did something really bad." Before I knew it, I was crying again. The boy looked taken aback.

"Woah, relax. I bet it's not as bad as you think. Some of these cops can be really nice. Give you free McDonalds and stuff. Besides, before you know it, everything'll be back to normal. You'll see."

"Really?"

"Yeah. You're gonna be fine. I'm sure you didn't mean to do whatever it is you did. You seem too nice to hurt anybody on purpose."

"Thanks. You too."

"What's your name?"

"Olive."

"Nice to meet you, Olive. I'm Pete."


	2. An unlikely meeting

**Note: Apologies to any coin enthusiasts who find any inaccuracies in this story. I just made stuff up. I'm Australian, so I know nothing about American money : )**

_**Pete's POV:**_

The police station seemed to maintain its buzzing momentum around us. A cop shouted to a prisoner. Phones rang. Sirens flew away. Vandals rattled their cages and hostile footsteps marched the corridors to a drum-less beat. I went to sit beside Olive. I wasn't really sure how to cheer her up. I never had a sister and I hardly ever talked to the girls at school. But she just looked so distant, like nobody had ever really looked into her eyes before.

"Hey, you want to see something cool?" I asked her. Her eyes flitted towards me and she nodded with a shy smile. I searched my pockets and pulled out my lucky coin.

She giggled. "It's a quarter."

My face displayed mock offence. "You did NOT just say that. This isn't just a quarter. It's my lucky quarter."

I tossed it and she caught it deftly in her palm. I watched the way her eyes focused as she studied it, running her fingers around the edge. "Why so lucky? It looks normal to me."

I leaned over and held her hand still so I could point out the details. "See this date here? This coin was minted in 1943. That's the year my Grandpa came to America. He was from Germany. There were only a few hundred of these coins made that year because the country was trying to save costs for the war and use the metal to make army supplies instead. Out of those, only about twenty have ever been found."

She watched my hand pensively, digesting the information. "How do you roll it over your fingers like that?"

"It's easy," I said. I gave her the coin and positioned it between her fingers. "You just push this finger up and push that one down, then you do the same thing with the next finger." She rolled it successfully all the way down her hand, but when it got to her pinky, it fell to the ground. She giggled and I knelt to pick it up. "You see, when it gets to the end is the hardest part. You've got to use your pinky to push it underneath so your thumb can catch it." I demonstrated and then got her to try. She rolled it all the way down and back up time and time again. Her eyes gleamed. I realised it was the first time in our short meeting that she had ever truly smiled. It was infectious. I couldn't help but beam back at her as the coin ran along her hand.

"I wish we had some cards," she said. "I can do really good card tricks."

She dropped the coin again and I laughed, picking it up. "Careful, that coin's worth a lot of money."

"How much?"

"Millions!"

She laughed. "Millions? I don't believe you. Why would anyone pay that much money for a quarter? That's stupid."

I grinned sheepishly. "Well, it's not worth millions _yet_."

"I knew it!"

"Yeah, but someday, when it's a lot older and it's really, really rare, I'll sell it and be rich forever. I'll never have to get a job or anything. And I'll get to live in a big house again."

I began to twirl the coin over my knuckles, and her eyes followed it as it went up and down between my fingers. "So it's like the Golden Ticket?"

I was puzzled. "You mean like in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory?"

"Yeah," she said. "You know, how Charlie's really poor and then he gets a Golden Ticket to see the chocolate factory and after that he never has to worry about his family having no food anymore. I always wished I had something like that. Something that made everything perfect again."

I cast my eyes to the floor. "Yeah. I used to live in a big house in Cambridge, but then my Dad had to go to a hospital far away and we had to move to a tiny apartment. I hate it here. My new school sucks. All my friends still live far away. And my Mum's sad all the time. I bet whatever your problems are, they're not as bad as that."

I knew immediately I'd said something wrong. Olive was completely still, glaring at me. Her eyes were like ice, her stare like ants nipping at my skin. Then she averted her eyes like I wasn't even worth looking at. I stopped rolling my coin and tried to look her in the eye, even as she avoided me. "I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to make you sad."

"I'm not" she replied sharply. I could see her trying to be brave. I realised then that I had met her at a very unusual time in her life – a time where she was vulnerable, where she seemed younger than her years. As I noticed her mentally rebuilding those walls, I discerned that she now looked significantly older than nine. Her eyes were dark and lined from lack of sleep, her skin was pale and marred with the occasional bruise. Her hands were clenched, her jaw tight. I saw now that inside this innocent, victimised little girl there was a fire - a part of her heart that had grown tough, like scar tissue, and could maybe never be normal. Part of me was surprised, perhaps glad to see the fighter in her, but then I felt a pang of shame in my gut as my mind ran through all the horrible things somebody had to have done to her to make her this way.

Joe, the officer who brought me in, walked over to us. He glared at me. "Bishop, what did you do?"

"Nothing, man. I was just trying to talk to her-"

"Don't even try it, kid. I told you to stay over there. Now look what you've done. This little girl's all upset. It'd be nice for you to stop trying to find girlfriends every time you come in here. You're ten years old."

"I wasn't doing that! I was trying to cheer her up with my coin tricks!"

Joe told me to save it and knelt down beside Olive. "Sweetheart, is he bothering you?"

She shook her head and sent a cold glance my way. "I'm fine," she said, just as Phil walked back in with some McDonalds. I remembered Phil from the first time I was arrested. I felt glad Olive got such a nice cop to look after her. But I'd also forgotten how scary he could get when he was mad.

"What's going on here, Pete?" Phil asked, his body tall and rigid, like a tree that doesn't bend.

"Nothing, Officer. Just trying to cheer up Olive." Even though Olive wouldn't look at me, I tried to communicate to Phil that I really was trying to make her feel better. He reflected understanding in his eyes.

"We'll, I'm sure you tried very hard, Pete, but Olive's had a rough day and I need to have a talk with her in my office, OK? Come on, Olive." He knelt down and took her gently by the hand. Olive paused at the door and looked back at me. She showed nothing as she eventually turned away, and the door shut behind her, leaving me to wonder if I'd ever see her again.

**Olive's POV:**

Phil's office was warm and smelled like coffee. With a rich smile, he sat me down in a chair that was too big for me and handed me some French fries to eat. I hadn't realised how hungry I was until I started eating. It's weird how sometimes you get so caught up in feeling scared or sad or lonely that you forget you have a basic need to eat. Phil had bought me a Happy Meal with a little toy cow inside. As I reached out to play with it, I realised Pete's lucky quarter was still in my hand.

**Thanks for reading! The reviews so far have been really encouraging. Please let me know how you are finding the story and I'd love any suggestions you might have.**

**Peace : )**


	3. Goodbyes

**Alas, we have reached the last chapter for this story. I'm going overseas for a couple of weeks, but when I get back I'll be bringing you more Fringey fanfic goodness! Once again, thanks to everybody who's been reading the story, I hope you've enjoyed it. **

**Have a great day, everyone! God bless : )**

"Olive?"

I looked up. Phil was looking at me questioningly, but keeping himself restrained. I realised then he had asked me something and was awaiting an answer. I wasn't paying attention, having noticed Pete's coin still in my palm. Glancing at Phil, I felt instantly ashamed for not listening to him.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I…"

"What is it, sweetheart?"

"I forgot to give Pete's coin back to him."

He smiled, sitting up. "Well, then, I think it's best we go and find him."

"Do you think he's still outside?"

"Let's find out. Come on." He took my hand to lead me out. I got up and he opened the door for us. Pete wasn't in his seat. He wasn't anywhere. Like I blinked and he disappeared. Phil tugged on my hand. "It's alright. I have his address so I can send him the coin. I'll make sure he gets it. Let's go back inside."

But I wasn't listening. All I could do was scan the room desperately. Finally, I spotted the cop who'd brought him in and ran after him. Phil was calling my name and following me, but it's easier to weave through a crowded police station when you're nine. I eventually managed to make my way to the policeman. He seemed menacingly tall standing up. I tugged on his jacket. "Excuse me, sir?"

He looked around, perplexed, until he tilted his head lower. He knelt down. "Hey, princess. Are you lost?"

"No, sir. I just need to find Pete. Is he still here?"

He glanced around. "Uhhh, Pete? Dunno, love. His Mum just picked him up a minute ago. Let me take you back to Ph-"

"Thank you!"

"Hey, wait!" He shouted after me as I sped off. I ducked under arms, dodged bustling police officers, skidded on wooden floors and scrambled between desks until I found the exit. I threw myself into the cold winter night, but my heart was too racy to feel the chill of the air. My eyes examined the street until I found a tall, dark-haired woman leading a boy to her car.

**Pete's POV:**

"I'm very disappointed in you," My Mum was saying, looking down on me as we walked out of the police station on the street. The edge in her voice had already started to crack. "I try to make this…transition…as easy as it can be for you. I try so hard. You're not the only one who's been finding this difficult, Peter." She blinked her tears away. I didn't actually get to see her this way very often, so whenever I did my heart would physically ache. I knew that she cried a lot. I'd hear her in the night, when she thought I was sleeping. I'd sit in the corridor and debate whether or not I should go in and comfort her, though I'd always decide that it was best to leave her be. But I could never tell her that.

She stopped and knelt beside me, pulling me close. I felt her hand settle on the back of my head as she kissed my hair. "You know that I love you very much, don't you?" I nodded into the familiar warmth of her jacket. Her skin smelled like rain.

"Na einai kalitero anthropo apo ton patera tou," she whispered.

"I know, Mum."

"Sagapo, agapi mou."

"You, too. I'm sorry. Don't be sad, OK?"

She pulled us apart and looked closely at my face. Something strange that almost resembled a deep sadness, or worry, wrinkled the skin around her eyes. No. It was something more than that. Was it guilt? Regret? Shame? I couldn't decipher it, but I felt certain that it was this thing I couldn't perceive that was making her cry at 3am.

"PETE!"

Someone was calling my name. I tore myself from my mother's arms to find Olive leaping down the steps of the police station, followed by the two scrambling policemen. She sprinted over to me and stopped, panting.

"You look like Road Runner," I laughed.

She was still trying to catch her breath as Phil and Joe finally caught up to her. They stopped a few metres away. I could see out of the corner of my eye that Phil was gently holding Joe back, kindly allowing Olive a few minutes to say goodbye. My Mum touched my shoulder. "Peter, who's this friend of yours?"

"Mum, this is Olive. We only just met tonight. Would it be OK if I said goodbye to her?"

"Of course, sweetheart. I'll just be over here talking to Phil, alright?"

As turned away, Olive said "It was nice to meet you, Miss."

My mother seemed surprised that I had made a friend with someone with such nice manners. "You too, darling." She walked to talk with the policeman, leaving the two of us together. We were close enough for them to watch us, but just out of earshot.

Olive gave a weak smile. "I'm glad I found you."

I couldn't help but smile back. "So am I," I said.

She glanced curiously in the grown-ups' direction. "You're Mum's really pretty. How come she sounds different?"

"She's from another country. She was born in Greece but then she grew up in England."

"Cool! Were you born somewhere else, too?"

"No. I've always been from Boston. What about you?"

She looked down. "I'm from Jacksonville."

"Where's that?" I asked.

"It's in Florida."

"Florida! That's so far away! It's probably nicer over there. Why'd you move?"

Her voice trembled. "My Mum made me." Something cracked in her. I could see it. She brought her still-clenched hands to her face. They were shaking. Tears, warm and viscous, began to spill from her eyes. She took sharp, panicked breaths. She tried to talk – to explain how scared she was, how the day's events had overwhelmed her – but she couldn't form the words. I did the only thing I could think of. I wrapped by arms around her in a huge bear hug. It was perfectly comfortable, like she was made to fit there. I could hear my Mum start to walk towards me, furious that I'd made her cry, and Phil gently explaining to her that Olive had a terrible day and that I'd been very helpful in comforting her.

I felt Olive's fingers clench my jacket. I held her loosely, but firmly, so she could get out when she was ready. "I won't let go until you tell me to," I said.

Her shoulders shook in response. All I could hear were her tired whimpers in between breaths, as she stuttered over and over again. "I don't want to be here," she finally managed to say. "I don't want to be here…I don't want to be here…"

Finally, she moved away from me and wiped her face, embarrassed. I watched, mesmerised, as she composed herself. How she managed to switch between her scared side and her comfortable, talkative side was an art form to me. She held out her hand. In it was my lucky coin. "I forgot to give it back to you," she said.

I couldn't believe I'd left that behind. I hadn't even noticed it was gone. I beamed at her. She smiled back. I closed her fingers around the coin. "Keep it," I said.

Her eyes went wide. "No way! It's your favourite."

"It's OK."

"No." She forced my hand open and gave it back to me. "It's your lucky coin. I could never take this from you."

I felt the weight of it in my palm and glanced at her in gratitude. I twirled it over my fingers and tossed it into my pocket. "Thank you, Olive."

"Don't mention it," she said. She glanced at the adults. "I think your Mum wants to take you home."

"Yeah, I know. I wish we'd met differently. I think in another life we could have been really good friends."

"Yeah," she said. "Thank you for talking to me tonight, Pete. I really needed it."

"I loved talking to you, Olive."

"Do you think we'll ever see each other again?"

"I don't know," I told her honestly. "But I hope so."

"Me too." She checked to be sure that the grown-ups weren't looking, then leaned in and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. "Goodbye, Pete," she said and turned on her heels. Before I knew it, she had disappeared back into the station with Phil and Joe. I raised my fingers to my cheek, where the skin still tingled. My Mum called me and we started off down the street again, the air so cold we could see our breath before us, but all I could think about was whether I'd ever get the chance to see Olive again one day.

**Just a bit of Fringe trivia: I'm of Greek descent, and the Greek sentence in "A New Day in the Old Town" actually doesn't mean what Peter says it does. In the episode, he tells Olivia it means "Be a better man than your father." However, a more literal and accurate translation is "He is a better man than his father." **

**Also, "Sagapo, agapi mou" roughly translates to "I love you, my darling." **

**Thanks for reading!**


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